A Leap of Faith
by enigste1
Summary: Postep for 'Traffic'. Oneshot.


**A Leap of Faith**

"Thanks, Charlie," Don said, pushing himself up from where he knelt on the floor. "I think we can work with this." He shuffled through the pages of the file as he spoke. "With this new information we might even have a chance at catching this guy." Don walked over to the front door, grabbing his coat from where it hung on the wall.

"Donny," Alan put in suddenly. "Where are you going?"

Don waved the file as he shrugged into his coat. "To get to work on this," he replied. "Thanks again, Charlie." He opened the door and was gone.

Charlie got up from his kneeling position with a satisfied smile on his face. "Well," he announced. "That felt good."

"Did it?"

Charlie looked at his father quizzically. "What do you mean?"

Alan hauled himself out of the chair. "Charlie…" he began. "Sometimes you are so oblivious it's a miracle you remember breathing."

"Hey!" the younger man protested. "What was that for?"

His father flapped a hand at him impatiently. "Ah never mind," he answered. "Forget it."

"No," Charlie cut in. "What did you mean by that?"

Alan turned to him. "Don't you notice anything?" he asked. "Your brother is getting into one of his moods again, Charlie – you know what he told me tonight?" The younger man shook his head. "He told me he's got twelve more cases to start working on tomorrow." He pointed a finger at Charlie's chest. "And _you_, Professor," he snapped. "Just gave him another one!"

Charlie thought for a moment. "He didn't say anything…"

"Of course he didn't!" his father replied explosively. "He never does. He was about to tonight, until you came in and dangled that hit-and-run case in front of his nose!" Alan stared at him for a moment and then sighed. "Charlie," he continued in a calmer tone. "I'm worried about Don, okay? That's all." He made as if to head for the kitchen and stopped in his tracks. "I'm… I'm sorry I blew up at you."

Charlie shook his head quickly. "No, no," he argued. "I just didn't realize… I've noticed Don seemed a little – off – lately, but I didn't know that he was that upset."

"Maybe I'm imagining it," Alan countered. "But it certainly seems like your brother feels he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders. He's not going to be able to keep pretending for very long." He turned and walked into the kitchen.

"Pretending what?" Charlie called after him.

Alan's voice drifted back through the open doorway. "That he's not human!"

-x-x-x-x-x-

Alan glanced around nervously as he stepped into the FBI bullpen, bustling with activity. Seeing the person he wanted to talk to, he quickly walked over. "Megan," he began in a low voice.

Megan looked up from her computer and removed her glasses. "Hey, Alan!" she greeted him warmly. "What brings you here?" She looked around the bullpen. "Umm… I think Don's interrogating a suspect right now, but…"

"No, no," Alan interrupted. "I actually wanted to talk to you, if you've got a minute."

"Sure." Getting up from her chair, she guided him toward the break room. "We should be able to have some privacy in here."

Alan followed her through the doorway, waiting for it to swing shut before speaking. "I… uh… actually wanted to talk to you about Don."

Megan paused in the act of pouring out two cups of coffee. "Oh?" she asked nonchalantly. "What about him?"

"I've noticed…" The older man broke off as she handed him a dark blue enameled mug with the FBI logo on it. "Thank you," he said and then continued, "I've noticed – or at least I _think_ I've noticed – that Don seems to be in a mood lately."

Megan led the way over to a pair of comfortable armchairs standing in the corner. "What kind of mood?" she asked.

"I don't know," Alan replied in exasperation. "Kind of dark and brooding. Am I imagining things here?"

Slowly shaking her head, Megan answered, "I've noticed it too. And I'm not the only one – he snapped at David the other day." She took a sip of her coffee. "He told me Don said he was an idiot for telling those two boys their father was going to be alright."

"David was an idiot?"

"No, no," Megan corrected with a smile. "Don was. When David said they needed something to look forward to – something to hope for – Don said 'their lives were never gonna be the same again'." She crooked her fingers in midair to signify quotes, one hand still wrapped around her coffee cup.

Alan sat back in his chair and rubbed his chin with one hand. "What do you think I should do?" he asked finally.

Megan leaned forward in her seat, propping her elbows on her knees. "You know, Alan," she replied quietly. "I'm not really sure. If it were anyone other than Don I could tell you, but he's…"

"Not human," Alan finished for her.

She nodded. "He definitely gives that impression doesn't he?"

"Yeah." Alan looked up as the door opened, quickly getting to his feet. "Donny!" he exclaimed.

"Dad." Don glanced down at Megan. "What are you two doing, hiding in here?" he asked with a smile.

Megan watched Don's face as Alan replied, "Actually, Megan here was keeping me company until you were free. I was wondering if you wanted to go out and get some lunch or something." He paused. Don looked like he was about to refuse, so he added, "My treat, of course."

"Well," Don laughed softly. "When you put it that way – let me go grab my jacket." He headed back out the door.

Alan looked down at Megan, his eyebrows raised. The young woman nodded slightly. "I see what you mean," she said. "Are you going to try talking to him?"

"Do you think I should?"

"It couldn't hurt." She rose from her chair. "Let me know how it goes, okay?"

-x-x-x-x-x-

Don finished his meal and sat back with a satisfied sigh. "That was good, Dad," he said. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Alan considered him carefully. "Donny – about that conversation we had last night…"

"Dad, don't," Don warned, throwing his napkin onto the table. "Don't start this again."

Alan sighed. "Is it wrong for me to want you to be happy? I _am_ your father, after all."

The younger man stared at him in silence for a moment. "No," he said finally, pulling out his wallet. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"Put that away," his father commanded. "I told you – my treat."

"Right." Don shoved back from the table and made as if to stand. "Thanks again."

Alan raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Where are you going?" he asked.

Don paused. "Back to work. Where did you think I was going?"

"Of course you're going back to work," Alan replied. "What I meant was – so soon?"

"It's called 'lunch break' for a reason, Dad," Don answered, getting to his feet. "As in 'the middle of the day pause to eat'. Not 'done for the rest of the day'. That would be dinner."

Alan stood as well, tossing a bill on the table. "Fine," he said. "So you'll be over at seven, then?"

"I didn't say…" Don looked at his father in exasperation. "All right, Dad. You win. Seven o'clock."

"We're having ribs," his father replied. "Don't be late."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Don tossed his keys onto the desk and dropped into the chair with a heavy sigh. Propping his elbows on his knees, he rubbed his hands over his face wearily.

"Everything go okay?"

He looked up at Megan's concerned face. "Yeah, sure," he replied. "Any reason why it shouldn't have?"

She shook her head. "None that I can think of," the other agent said. "You just looked… I don't know… tired, I guess."

"I _am_ tired," he confessed. "I'm tired of everyone psychoanalyzing me."

Megan opened her mouth to reply and then suddenly thought better of it, turning her attention back to the files in front of her. Don watched her in silence for a moment before gathering up his keys and standing again. He walked over and stood behind her chair, waiting until she looked up. "Megan, I…" he paused.

"Yes?" She pulled off her glasses and stared up at him.

Don shook his head. "I think I'm gonna take off," he said finally. "Maybe I'm coming down with something."

She smiled slightly. "You do look a little peaked," she agreed. "Go ahead – there's nothing here that can't wait until tomorrow anyway."

"Thanks, Megan," he said quietly. "I appreciate it." Without waiting for her response, he turned and headed for the elevators.

"Here's hoping it helps," she murmured as she slipped her glasses on and went back to work.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Don closed the door behind him and shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it across the back of a chair on his way to the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of beer out of the refrigerator, twisting the cap off and leaving it on the counter before heading back into his living room and dropping onto the couch with a sigh. Picking up the remote, he switched on the television, flipping through several channels before finally landing on something that caught his interest. Don set the remote on the coffee table and sat back, sipping at his beer as the images flickered across the screen, trying unsuccessfully to lose himself in the program.

He'd finished the bottle and was just about to get another when he heard a tentative knock on his front door. Puzzled, Don pushed himself off the couch and walked into the hallway. "Who is it?" he called out.

"Uh… it's me," his brother replied. Don shook his head and opened the door. "Hi," Charlie said with a smile. "Can I come in?"

Don turned and went to the kitchen for another beer. "Want one?" he asked, holding up the bottle.

"No thanks," Charlie answered, shaking his head. He checked his watch. "It's a little early for me."

"Yeah, well," Don said, tossing the cap to join its predecessor on the counter. "Maybe for some of us."

Charlie watched his brother move to the couch and sit down heavily. He stepped around the chair, settling into the cushions quietly and began, "I called your office but Megan said…"

"I went home," Don interrupted. "And here I am."

"Yes, well…" the mathematician trailed off, flustered. "I came over to talk to you about that hit-and-run case I gave you last night."

Don looked over. "What about it?"

Charlie licked his lips. "I… uh… just wanted to tell you…" He paused. "I need to rework my equations. The information I gave you was incorrect."

His eyes narrowing suspiciously, the agent said, "What are you talking about, Charlie? How is it incorrect?"

"The conclusions I outlined," Charlie replied. "They're… not accurate. The variables actually indicate a different outcome."

Don took a long pull from the bottle as he watched his brother out of the corner of his eye. Setting it on the tabletop, he said, "So the information we have is misleading – is that what you mean?"

Charlie nodded emphatically. "I need more time to work on it," he replied.

"Really." As his brother continued nodding, Don picked up the bottle again and leaned back in the cushions. "You're a terrible liar, Chuck," he said, taking a sip.

"Wh- What do you mean?" the mathematician stammered.

Don turned to look at him directly. "We used the information you gave us to track down the suspect this morning, Charlie," he replied. "We arrested him just before lunchtime."

Charlie paled. "Oh."

"Right." Don looked back at the television set. "Why did you come here? Honestly?"

Swallowing hard, Charlie's gaze dropped to the floor for a second before fastening on his brother's face. "I came over because I wanted…" He trailed off when Don looked at him. "I want you to talk to me," he finished.

Don shook his head. "What for?" he muttered.

"Because something is bothering you?" Charlie asked, his voice rising. "Because you're depressed, beating yourself up about something? Because…" He glanced at his watch. "You're on your second beer at five after two in the afternoon?"

"I'm not depressed," Don replied shortly.

Charlie snorted. "Yeah, right. If I'm a terrible liar, Don, you're a worse actor."

Don set the bottle down with deliberate restraint. "Listen, Charlie," he said carefully. "I don't need anyone – not even you – asking me questions about what I'm thinking or feeling. Alright?"

"But you'll tell Dad?"

Surprised, Don asked, "What do you mean? I didn't tell Dad anything."

"No," Charlie agreed. "You didn't have a chance – I ruined that." He shook his head. "But you were about to. He told me."

"You didn't ruin anything," Don insisted. "Don't even think that."

Leaning back in his chair, Charlie said, "It's true. You were going to tell Dad what was bugging you and then I walked in with that file…" He shrugged. "And you didn't get to finish."

"Maybe I didn't want to."

"Maybe you need to," the young professor countered. "Which brings us to the reason I'm here."

Don sighed. "Charlie…"

"Don…" His brother echoed his tone.

After several minutes of silence, Don turned the television off and looked at his brother. "What do you want me to say?"

"Whatever comes after 'sometimes'." At his brother's confused look, Charlie explained, "That was the last thing you said to Dad before I walked in."

Don reached for the bottle on the table and began methodically peeling off the label. At last he said, "Sometimes… I wonder…" He stood up suddenly. "Never mind." Striding over to the window, he stood with his arms folded and his jaw set.

Charlie got up slowly and moved to his side. "Tell me," he insisted. "I want to know."

"No you don't."

"Yes, I do." Cautiously placing one hand on his brother's forearm, Charlie went on, "I'm not here to judge you, Don. I just want to listen."

Don turned. "Do you, Charlie?" he asked. "Do you really want to know what's going on in my head?"

The mathematician nodded. "Yes."

"Every day I get up and get ready for work," the other man began without preamble. "I look in the mirror and wonder 'Who am I going to have to lie to today?' Or, 'Whose life am I going to ruin?'" He shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder why I keep doing it."

Charlie waited. When his brother didn't speak, he said, "Maybe because you love it?"

"Do I, Charlie?" Don asked. "Do I still? I know I used to, but…"

"You told Dad once that you were a damn good FBI agent," Charlie cut in. "Has that changed?"

Don thought carefully. "No."

"Would you be a damn good FBI agent if you didn't love your job?" Don shook his head slowly. "Have your cases suffered at all lately?" Another headshake. Charlie regarded him thoughtfully. "Does the way you feel…" he went on quietly. "…Have anything to do with what happened to Megan?"

Don's head snapped up and he took a step backwards. "What are you implying?" he bit out.

"Nothing!" Charlie said hurriedly. "I'm not implying anything. Honest. I just thought maybe…"

"What?"

Charlie shrugged. "I thought maybe some of what you're feeling might stem from the way you felt during the Hoyle case, that's all." He looked his brother in the eye. "You never did get over that… what did you call it?"

"Crossing lines," Don murmured.

"Right." Charlie studied him carefully. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe – just maybe – what you're feeling now might be guilt brought on by that?"

Don moved over to the couch and dropped into the cushions wearily. "You don't know what you're talking about," he said, picking up the bottle again and taking a long drink.

Charlie walked to the chair he'd recently vacated and sat down. "No?" he asked. "Did you get in any trouble for what you did?" Don shook his head. "The assistant director didn't say anything to you?"

"He said I did what I had to do."

"But you don't think so." It was a statement, not a question. "Don… Every once in a while there comes a time when the only thing man can do to solve a problem is suspend belief in the plodding, methodical avenues and take a leap of faith." When his brother didn't respond, Charlie went on, "That leap might go against the traditional methods, but without it there's no going forward."

"I thought you said math was the most precise form of science," Don grumbled.

"It is," Charlie agreed. "And throughout it you'll find statements like 'if this, then that'. There are suppositions all over the place. You have to assume something is necessary or true in order to find your answers."

Don shook his head sadly. "What if it wasn't necessary?" he asked quietly.

Charlie sighed. "Don," he began. "What else could have been done that hadn't already been done? If you hadn't gotten that information out of Winters, Megan would be dead right now. Is that what you want?"

"Don't be stupid!" Don snapped. "Of course that's not what I want."

"Well then what else is there to say?" He leaned over and placed a hand on the older man's knee. "Megan survived, you were cleared of any wrongdoing by the assistant director…" Charlie paused. "The only person who doesn't believe in you, Don – is you."

The older man regarded him warily. "And why should I?"

Charlie smiled. "Because you're a damn good FBI agent, bro," he replied. "All you need is a leap of faith."

"That's it, huh?"

Nodding, the mathematician answered, "That's it." He stood and walked to the door, pausing with one hand on the door knob. "Try it," he added. "You'll see."

Don watched the door close softly behind his brother, a small smile on his face.


End file.
